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First house in Eagle Rock. 
Occupied by Dominguez. 
and later by H. J. Stewart. 










Copyright, 1912, by 

Women's Twentieth Century Club 

Eagle Rock, California 



CI,A34401S 



History 



Nestling among the foot hills, about six miles 
North of Los Angeles, is Eagle Rock Valley. It 
lies near the center of the old San Rafael Rancho 
which was granted to Marino de la Verdugo in 
1784 and confirmed to his son Jose in 1798. In 
1828 Jose left it to his children, Julio and Cata- 
lina. A United States patent was granted in 1882. 
This Rancho was later subdivided into the Drey- 
fus, Beaudry and Glassell and Chapman tracts. 

The name Eagle Rock, so called from its re- 
semblance of its shadow to the "bird of freedom," 
was long known among the Indians and used to 
identify the valley, but the Spanish gave it the 
name of Piedro Gordo, or fat rock. 

A small tract of two acres near the rock was 
owned by a Mexican named Dominguez, but later 
by H. J. Stewart, a Scotchman who rebuilt the 
house in 1884, and lived in it several years. As 
far as known, this was the first permanent house 
in Eagle Rock Valley, and remained till 1912. 

With the march of civilization, the one time 
sheep pasture developed into a cluster of small 
ranches. Cacti and sage brush gave place to 
orange orchards and tomato fields. Trails became 
highways and the old picturesque pack-horse 
yielded in favor of the electric car and motor. 

The Canyon, with its gnarled sycamores, stately 
oaks, cottonwoods and willows, its carpet of wild- 
flowers, its bubbling spring and running brook, 
is now Huntington Park, still beautiful, but the 
charm that was, is gone. 

Strangers have found the little Valley in the 
hills and the herder's hut has become a bungalow, 
the ranch house, a handsome residence. 

'Tis said, the Mission Fathers sometimes used 
the trail through Eagle Rock Valley when going 
from San Fernando to San Gabriel. 



•I 




Once did the stumbling savage wend 

His weary way 
Across this verdant valley fair 

To learn to pray. 



Legend 



In the days before Verdugo owned the "Valley 
of the San Raphael Hills," long before the Span- 
iards called the great boulder the "Fat Rock," 
long, long before the people of the San Gabriel 
Valley knew of "The Pass of Eden," a large 
band of Indians camped afar down the plain to- 
ward the sunset. 

The warriors lolled on the ground and told 
stories of combat and victory to the young men, 
while the squaws scratched in the soil or lugged 
logs for the wigwam fire, carrying their black- 
eyed papooses on their backs. 

One little baby only lay on a skin and gazed 
upward at the soaring birds in the sky. 

Suddenly, in one mighty circle, an eagle dropped 
upon it and, seizing it in its talons, arose swiftly 
and flew eastward toward the great rock. Soon 
the whole band aroused, were chasing the huge 
bird and shooting their arrows. But they could 
not kill him, and with shriekings and bowlings 
they fell upon the earth, cursing him and calling 
on the Sun to aid them. "Let his shadow not 
pass the gray rock ! Let him crush himself 
against it and turn to stone upon it !" they cried. 
'Twas done. Dropping the infant unhurt below, 
he dashed against the rock, and the image there 
is the imprint of his huge body. 

Yet, for many years, these birds of prey lived 
in the caves below the shadow, guarding the 
ghost on the face of the rock, and bold indeed, 
were the robber pirates who dared to hide their 
booty, as many did, in the depths of these caverns. 




Early 
home of 
Julio Ve 



The Redman's fields once yielded 
Their wealth in wool and grain 

To searching Spaniards labors 

Their hopes and prayers were vain. 




Now, orchard^ 
And home! 

Begem the vaj 
Time ! K^ 

I 




Then cultured palm and pepper 
Replaced the natural oak 

And mansions fair were marking 
The trails that wild feet broke. 




'jet are falling, 
happy men 
smiling face, 
pure ! Amen. 




When I'm coming to this Valley 

(Which I love above all others, 
Looks to me so grand and lordly, 

Looks to me so sweet and homely.) 
When I'm coming from the city, 

Tho' it be a town of Angels, 
That old eagle waves a welcome, 

Seems to meet. half way my coming. 



And when I leave this spot I treasure. 

Looking back on homes and gardens, 
On the bungalows and houses, 

On the hills and orange orchards, 
He seems politely winging — 

Just a brief farewell at leaving. 
Like some fine old host, whose parting 

Leaves an aching for returning. 




To A?i Old 

Sycamore 



Alone he stands ! 

An old brave warrior 
Of a noble band 

Whose strength and beauty- 
Graced this wondrous land, 



Defiant he views 
Death-dealing onslaughts 

Wrought by fire and greed 
And crowing inroads 

Of a city's need. 



Sadly he bends 
Toward haunting remnants 

Lost in char or mold 
Of mighty brethren 

Once as grand and bold. 



Live, Grand old Man ! 
'Til careless mankind 

Learn the mighty truth 
That shame and sorrow 

Follow lack of ruth. 




To the Rock Birds 

God called the watchful wild-birds 
To mark this charming land, 

The eagle from the mountain, 

The pelican from the strand. ^,; 



When wistful eye was lifted 
To Him who never fails, 

It, passing, caught the beacons 

Which drew men to these vales. 



Eag/e Rock Valley l%':^0 



A Memory 



■VM^^' 



I am longing for that valley, 
I am homesick for those 
hills ; 
And afar a voice is calling me 
the while. 
Oh, my dream is of the shad- ^ 
ows 
Falling 'thwart the fields of j'l -^ 

grain, j "^-fe 

And of hollows where thei_ 
golden poppies smile. > _ 

I am cold without that sun- 
shine ; 
And no birds so sweetly sing 
As the songsters that wake 
joyful echoes there. 
Just the living of each day 
Is a rapture passing words. 
In the magic of that opales- 
cent air ! 



r^-^m 



WM.. ^r- 




I can feel the canyon's thral- 
dom ; 
And my wearied eyes would 
rest 
On the gray, poetic eucalyptus 
tree ; 
On the wide-winged, soaring 
eagle. 
Nature's warden of my vale. 
Poised forever o'er it, gazing 
to the sea. 



How I love that long grade 
sloping, 
To the pensive sunset west, 
Where the distant hill-tops 
soften in its light. 
Oh, the charm that so en- 
tranced me 
Holds my heart a captive still, 
As my soul flies back to 
Eagle Rock tonight. 









'Wa^^w'*,,;.; 



We are indebted to Mrs. Sadie 
Bowman Metcalf for the beautiful 
couplet on the cover of this little 
book and to Sara Evans Letch- 
vi'orth for "A Memory," reprinted 
by permission of "Town and 
Country." 



I 
I 



1 



m 7 1913 



LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 



017 138 454 # 



